


give me something i can keep

by Kierkegarden



Series: undo me in your image (make me a middle ground) [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, Desperation, Flexible Apocalypse Timelines, Fluff, Gags, Light Angst, Luther canonically writes poetry, M/M, Oral Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Second Time, Sensation Play, Sex as practice, Smut, Sobriety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierkegarden/pseuds/Kierkegarden
Summary: “When you said,” and Luther let himself into Klaus’s room, his head filling with the scent of opium incense. He felt giddy. “--When you said I needed more practice…”“Ah, yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Klaus drummed on his face with his fingertips, pulling himself to a seated position, “Yeah, what I was thinking was that you could practice on me. I’m selfless like that.”or Luther trains a different kind of endurance.





	give me something i can keep

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, I have nothing to say for myself as I have written two Kluther fics in two days and they are both shamelessly smutty. This can be read as a sequel to [how to be a number four](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18219941) but it is also a standalone piece. I put the timeline in a paper shredder and shaped the shreds into a dick. Take that, Freud!

“How about one more time?” Klaus was perched haphazardly on the sink, his toothbrush dangling uselessly out of his mouth, “You can be my narcan, Luther, I’m quitting cold turkey and I _need_ it.”

Luther wrung his hands. “I need a shower. Kindly get out.”

“Why?”

Luther heaved a sigh. He didn’t want to hurt Klaus, he just wanted to take his shower in peace. It was going to be one of the last pointless showers in his pointless, stupid life. He might as well get to enjoy it.

“Privacy, Klaus,” Luther lowered his voice, “Do you know what that means?”

Klaus batted his eyelashes. “Oh so _not_ like the time you throat fucked me on the couch in the middle of the living room at five in the afternoon.”

Luther’s hand shot out to grab the other man’s shoulder, to direct him off of the sink. He hadn’t been sober. People did stupid things when they weren’t sober, Klaus being living proof of this in nearly every moment of his life.

“Voice down,” Luther hissed, “and you need to leave. Now.”

“I’m a temptress,” Klaus whispered, “I’m gonna find my way into that oversized coat of yours again, baby.”

He danced nimbly under Luther’s hand as it swatted at him, as though he was a mosquito or a fruitfly.

“Okay, okay,” said Klaus, “I’m leaving.”

Luther took his shower. He cursed Klaus silently as soapy fingers found his own naked body working against him.

 

***

 

“ _Luther_ ,” came an insistent whine from the doorway. Klaus was a stray cat, fed only once, but now he wouldn’t leave Luther alone. Luther silently set his pencil down on his desk and turned from his journal.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m…” -- Luther couldn’t exactly tell him that he was writing poetry -- “journaling.”

“Can I come in?” Klaus didn’t wait for an answer and instead allowed himself through the threshold where his waifish body hung over Luther’s shoulder like a scarf.

“Your smile is like a hurricane, it shakes my very banks,” he read, as Luther desperately tried to snatch the notebook away, “You gave me purpose, and I want to give you…”

“Thanks,” finished Luther, “and thanks for inviting yourself in and reading my...private writings. Please go away.”

“I’m so flattered,” Klaus stroked his arm lightly, shaking his curls from side to side, “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not about you!” Luther snapped, realizing only after that Klaus was spouting nonsense as usual. It was just, things had been so royally fucked up lately, all the pieces in the wrong places. He wanted so desperately to make sense of it while it still lasted. Four long years of solitude. Four long years he could have spent with Allison.

Klaus sniffed. “I know. But really, you are so incredibly sweet for an...almost straight guy. I know you’re gonna do right by her.”

Luther blinked. “You think?”

“Well, yeah. With a little more practice in the,” -- Klaus mimicked a thrust -- “department.”

Luther’s voice was like gravel and it took everything he had not to throttle Klaus right then and there. “Get out.”

 

***

  
“Hey Klaus.”

The world was going to end. It was midnight. Luther couldn’t sleep.

“Mmph,” Klaus flipped over in bed, eyes brightening as he pawed at his bedside lamp, “Pleasant surprise.”  
  
“When you said,” and Luther let himself into Klaus’s room, his head filling with the scent of opium incense. He felt giddy. “--When you said I needed more practice…”

“Ah, yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Klaus drummed on his face with his fingertips, pulling himself to a seated position, “Yeah, what I was thinking was that you could practice _on_ me. I’m selfless like that.”

Luther snorted.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Klaus raised his hands, “The truth is, you’re never going to disappoint anyone with that _monster_ of yours. But you’re going to disappoint me if you don’t make good on your offer to dick me down again.”

“I was drunk!”

“No, no, no, no, you weren’t.”

Luther frowned. Klaus was the expert on that, between the two of them, there was no point in lying.

 

***

 

“Two rules,” said Luther, “Rule number one, you don’t tell a soul.”  
  
“Mmkay.”

“Rule number two, you don’t bring up Allison.”

Klaus blew the last wafting breath of smoke from his cigarette out the window and put it out against the sill. He laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay. Fine."

 

***

  
  
“Get the boa from the drawer.”

“Get the…” Luther looked over Klaus’s body, tied down to his bed posts with paracord, a half crucifix-half wounded animal. His cock gave a disobedient twitch as he rifled through Klaus’s dresser. Leave it to Klaus to rev his engine, all wanton and disheveled like a cheap whore. He reminded himself why he was here, again, for the third time this evening. Each reminder, Luther thought, sounded more and more like a plea.

Luther pulled the pink feathery scarf from the mass of wadded up clothing, old rolling papers, and stale gummy candies. Victory.

“Why do you even own this thing?”

Klaus feigned offense. “It’s called fashion, babe, look it up.”

“Fashion,” Luther snorted, reaching out to run a hand over Klaus’s nipple. Mostly because he could, and because Klaus was unable to stop him. He recoiled at the touch.

“Not with your fingers, _with the boa.”_

“Oh,” said Luther, “sorry.”

With shaking fingers, he held the boa at each end, rubbing it lightly across Klaus’s chest. Almost immediately, he was rewarded with a hiss of delight, a stifled snort, and Klaus’s half erect dick springing to life below him.

“ _Yess,_ ” Klaus moaned, squirming below him, “That’s how you touch a lady. Allison...is going to be...so _pleased_ when she finds out you’ve been practicing.”

The boa was replaced with Luther’s open hand colliding with his sternum. It made a loud clap, the kind of sound that bruises. Klaus gasped for air, keening against his bonds.

“Two rules,” Luther seethed, “and you’ve already broken one of them.”

Klaus fluttered his eyelashes. “For someone who wants to bone his sister so badly, you sure get flustered about it. Is she going to have to blindfold you? Maybe you’d prefer to practice on me from behind? I know a place where I can get a convincing wig, we could see how long you could keep it together.”

In one fluid movement, Luther balled up the boa and shoved it in Klaus’s mouth. He bit down hard, looking up with lidded, pleading eyes.

“Amazing,” said Luther to himself. He shrugged his coat off, pulled his shirt from his giant, hulking shoulders and unzipped his pants. His blood had traveled unwittingly downwards, and he was already so full and thick, throbbing painfully against the seam of his underwear. At last, he freed himself of that too, pumping himself a few times as he surveyed Klaus’s body on the bed, squirming and writhing and spitting the feathers from his mouth.

“You’re lucky,” he said, when he had his full range of speech back, “that those were synthetic feathers. Nothing ruins goose down like saliva, and nothing ruins the mood like destroying a lady’s wardrobe.”

“Shut up,” said Luther -- fully aware that he was being goaded, that Klaus was devouring him with his eyes, and no longer caring.

Klaus smirked, “Find a better gag.”

 _Maybe I will,_ Luther thought, climbing over Klaus’s bony knees, and positioning his own right against his armpits. He could smell the heavy odor of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. It should have been disgusting. Klaus was -- in all respects -- disgusting. Disgusting, and desperate, and whorish. The world was ending and he was totally placid, concerned only with his next fix. If not drugs, Luther thought, then this. Klaus was so empty, Luther thought, and he needed to fill his head with something important.

He didn’t let Klaus have it all at once like he wanted. Instead, with one hand wrapped around his cock, he smeared it teasingly across his lips, letting him taste it. Klaus’s tongue flicked out of his mouth, lapping at it. He groaned, thrusting up with his limited range of motion. Luther could feel Klaus’s erection graze ever-so-lightly against his ass with each thrust. Only then did it strike him how much _smaller_ Klaus was.

***

“I’m going to _fill_ you,” he found himself saying -- because only Klaus could bring out his animal nature that clung so much closer to his surface since the serum -- and Klaus bucked in delight, “I’m going to stretch you so wide that you won't have any room for words.”

Luther pushed into his mouth with no real grace or gentleness, only allowing him moments between inches, until he was fully enveloped. It felt so _good_ , the warm and sloppy way that Klaus’s tongue moved around him, beckoning him towards his seizing throat.

Breaking his own rule, Luther let his mind wander to Allison. He would never treat her like this, he thought to himself, could never allow himself to make her gag and choke over him. So this wasn’t just practice, he thought, although some part of him knew that it never was. It was desperation. It was release. The world was ending.

He pushed his fingers up the base of Klaus’s neck, pushing his head forward, and Klaus’s eyes watered as he gagged into the skin of Luther’s belly. Then suddenly, Luther pulled back, letting his dick drop from between Klaus’s lips.

“Wh--what?” For a moment, Klaus looked genuinely terrified. Lost. Then he regained his composure.

“ _Good boy,”_ he gave a throaty cough, spitting a wad of saliva onto the pillow beside his head, “not to waste that huge thing on my mouth alone.”

Luther was silent as he reached behind him, fumbling with the cord that held Klaus’s legs in place.

“You’re learning...to draw it out...just like I told you, baby. Just like I showed you,” Klaus threw him a manic grin, “She’s not gonna know what hit her. I promise you, you keep it up like this, you might even make her come.”

Luther dropped the loose bundle, hurling towards Klaus’s neck, where his massive hands easily found his throat.

“Of course I’m going to --,” he seethed below his breath, “I would never dream of leaving her…”

Klaus’s voice came out sing-song, strained below the chokehold. “What...a….gentleman.”

That was enough for Luther. He didn’t care what fucked up reason Klaus had for goading him into leaving marks all over his body. He let his fingers tighten even farther around Klaus’s throat, his neck reddening, his eyes bulging, cock straining below.

What was the worst he could do -- show the bruises off to his siblings? Get off on it? _Only for a few days,_ thought Luther, _before_ \-- he didn’t let himself finish the thought.

When he did finally release him, Klaus flashed him a grateful smile.

“Lube’s in the bedside table, by the way. If you ever want to --”

“Shut up,” said Luther, more out of habit than anything else.

 

***

 

Klaus’s entrance was hot and slick and not nearly as tight as his mouth. Luther wondered how many other men had had their way with him, had used him as practice, or as a payment for drugs, or just because Klaus had let them. Anger seared through him, as he pushed inside.

His mind was a muddle of thoughts and sensations, not fully lucid. He looked up at Klaus’s face, bent backwards painfully, his arms still spread across the bed. His wrists were red and rope-burned and suddenly, Luther understood the appeal of running and using and being used. The end of the world was a speck on the windshield and his body was revving wildly, pumping in and out of Klaus like a battering ram.

Klaus was uncharacteristically silent and Luther had to shake himself back to reality. At his core, he reminded himself, he must still be a good person. A very surreal vision of his own divine judgement manifested before his eyes, Luther teetering on the edge of hell, saved by his own compassion and the striking sense of -- what was this feeling? He thought of Allison humming as she picked out an outfit. _Love,_ Luther thought, looking up at Klaus. It really was the end times.

“Klaus?” he said breathlessly, slowing his rhythm. He had Klaus’s thighs between two giant fists, feet dangling in the air.

“Mm?” Klaus hummed, surprisingly candid. Placated. “ _Don’t stop.”_

Luther nodded, picking his rhythm once again, losing himself in it. Klaus was malleable in his hands, soft as putty, moaning unintelligibly. He could feel himself nearing release, his breath heaving against Klaus’s chest.

With a roar, Luther came, the sensation rattling his whole body. His movement slowed, breath softening, as he pulled himself backwards from Klaus. He collapsed. Running a hand up the back on his neck, he felt the dampness, the exertion and the absolute exhaustion washing over him.

“Well, well, well,” Klaus hissed, still tied up and hard as a rock, “That was at least seven minutes longer than last time. There is hope for you, after all.”

Maybe Luther had toyed with the idea of leaving him here, helpless and unfulfilled. That’s what he expected after all. That’s what he deserved. So maybe, if the world wasn’t ending, and this really was about practicing for Allison, he would have done just that: left to shower, come back to find Klaus still wrestling painfully with his ropes. Instead, Luther sunk towards Klaus’s belly, experimentally licking a wet line down, down along his pelvic bone and over the rigid line of his shaft, where he met his head with a wet kiss. Klaus tasted dirty. Klaus tasted like salvation.

“ _Oh,”_ Klaus moaned noisily, “Oh, God, you feel good.”

Luther had no idea what he was doing, really, but the premise was simple enough. He mirrored Klaus, hungrily going down on him, rubbing his tongue along the bundle of nerves at the base of his dick. It was hardly any time at all before Klaus was twitching, breathing desperately through his moans, readying himself for release.

Against his better judgement, Luther replaced his mouth with his hand and let Klaus finish into it -- his milky white seed spilling out in waves. His legs were trembling.

Luther couldn’t bring himself to look at Klaus’s face. He slunk to the edge of the bed, cupping his hot face in his hands.

“Such a gentleman my biggest brother is,” Klaus said, after he had regained his breath, “I would give you a hug, you know, if I wasn’t…”

“Yeah,” said Luther, “Yeah, whatever.”

“Hey, hey, now, it’s okay. It still counts as practice. Now, no matter what Allison is packing, you’ll be a pro.”

Luther didn’t look up. He rubbed his temples.

“If it makes you feel better, I’d never have guessed that was your first b--”

Luther spun around, hand raised, as Klaus sighed dreamily.

“It _was_ your first, right?”

“Shut up.”

Klaus raised his hands, albeit less than an inch, in a gesture of mock defense. “Just checking.”

The silence between them was deafening.

“It’s so strange,” said Luther suddenly, “Can you imagine that this,” -- he gestured to the room around them -- “is all gonna be gone?”

Klaus nodded. “Yeah.”

Luther busied himself with loosening the knots around Klaus’s wrists, where the dark sienna of bruises was already beginning to manifest on his skin.

“Hey Luther --” Klaus said, when he was all free, “Do me a favor and go find her, okay?”

“What?”

“No more practice. Just be with her while you still -- while you have the chance.”

Luther pulled himself to his feet, looking back at Klaus, puzzled.

 

***

 

So maybe there was a heaven, thought Klaus, for people like Luther and Allison. So maybe, he thought, despite knowing better, there was a God. He was too far gone to ever know for sure, his skin track-marked and bruised from his favorite carnal comforts. There was nothing left to be forgiven.

But God, he thought, lying still and in pieces as his breath found it's natural rhythm, Luther might live to make the pearly gates and maybe, just maybe -- he could touch him through the bars.


End file.
